Only A Coffee Cup
by Leah Hobbithands
Summary: Cameron wanted to assure herself that she imagined the soft note in his voice. House had no soft voice. Not with her.
1. Default Chapter

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own; don't sue. Gracias.

_Note:_Post-Role Model (day after). Slight spoilers, but not many.

_Summary:_ Cameron wanted to assure herself that she imagined the soft note in his voice. House had no soft voice. Not with her.

_A/N:_ I hope all of you enjoy! D My first House fic. I would greatly appreciate feedback.

Chapter One

What Could Have Been Involuntary Manslaughter

Allison Cameron unlocked her car door slowly. She listened to the careful click of the handle, watched the lights inside beam suddenly with brightness and slid into the driver's seat, subconsciously settling herself in for her half-an-hour drive home. She started to reach for the seatbelt, but abandoned the gesture of safety to slap the lights off in a temper unseen in her calm expression. Lights had no right to shine on a day like this.

Fists clenched over the steering wheel, Cameron breathed deeply, trying to calm down inside. She glanced up at the hospital she no longer worked at and blinked rapidly to stave the tears threatening to spill down her face. She reminded herself that it wasn't worth crying over, a job. She could be easily hired again. She was smart, talented, qualified…

"And…_pretty_," she murmured scathingly, putting in just enough sarcasm to nail her former boss's daily tone.

_But is he worth crying over?_ nagged a nasty voice in her brain, and she put the keys in the ignition roughly, as if punching it.

_No. He doesn't like me. But - hell if I know_, Cameron snapped mentally.

_Just because he said he didn't like you, you're running away._ Cameron was irritated that the voice sounded like a mixture between House himself, her mother, and her own logic.

Cameron stretched her right hand out and pushed a random button on the dashboard, willing it to be the radio. It was. She sighed with relief as music pounded out all hope for thought and she eased her car out of its space that would be marked "Cameron, Princeton-Plainsboro, M.D.", for the last time.

Then, she nearly had a heart attack.

Screaming, she swerved to the right, narrowly missing a parked car, and just managed to come to a stop before smashing her front bumper into the gray concrete wall of the parking garage. She felt herself starting to laugh softly in a slightly hysterical tone as she realized that neither she nor Gregory House was injured or dead.

For House had been standing very calmly in the middle of the lane, and she had been very close to running him over, bum leg and all.

She watched, still slightly wheezing, as he sidled to her driver's side window and thumped lightly on it with the top of his cane, as if she couldn't see him and he was trying to get her attention.

She stared up at him through the tinted glass, unbelieving. She had almost killed him.

But now she really was going to.

Cameron had every intention of throttling the breath out of him with the tie that hung loosely from his neck, but when she found herself standing in front of him, her hands were shaking and weak.

House considered her. Cameron readied herself for a verbal lashing, carefully prepared and executed only like he could deliver it, but it never came. Instead, he shifted slightly and brought from behind his back…his red coffee cup?

She stared at the object, and then flicked her eyes back up at him, waiting for him to speak.

"Well, take it," he admonished dryly. "I don't stand waiting for people in parking garages to be squashed like road kill without a cause."

"You have a cause?" Cameron inquired, still trying to calm her breathing.

House tipped his head a bit to the side, his eyes probing, searching, calculating. Cameron felt like she was completely transparent.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. You forgot your coffee cup when you…ah, picked everything else up today."

Cameron snorted derisively. "Mine is in the box."

"One, don't snort. It isn't becoming on any woman, pretty or not."

Cameron wanted to slap him. Or kiss him, she decided, but she wasn't sure which, and he was still talking.

"And two, consider it my going-away gift. I was too busy to send for a fruit basket."

Cameron allowed herself a very small smile. "I'm allergic to bananas."

"Noted. Where's your allergy bracelet?"

"For bananas? Please."

"Don't be admitted to this hospital for an allergic reaction, then. I hope I never see you in my clinic."

"You hope you never see anyone in your clinic."

House looked as though he were about to say something, but he didn't. A bit, Cameron remembered, like he had last night, when she had made herself the fool of the century going by his apartment to say goodbye.

"I…came in to get my stuff today," she muttered irrelevantly, gesturing at the aforementioned box sitting in the passenger seat of her still-running car.

House was silent until she tried to speak again.

"Yes, and you avoided me. All day. Very clever of you, I still can't figure out how you did it."

Cameron shrugged one shoulder, the right. House thought to himself that he would find it annoying if she had been anyone else.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence that begged for conversation. Cameron scuffed the toe of her brown leather pumps on the paved floor, and House cleared his throat with a noise like a piece of chalk snapping.

"Do you like seafood?" Cameron suddenly asked. Breathlessly, but she hoped he hadn't noticed.

He had. "Yes."

"Foreman's sister works at the bay restaurant on Airport. He gave me a certificate for a free dinner. For…leaving."

House felt a twinge of embarrassment. Foreman gave her a free dinner at an expensive restaurant, and he gave her, what – his old coffee cup? He knew she hadn't meant to compare the two, but he still felt the whiplash.

House looked at her expectantly. She quirked one eyebrow quizzically and House had to remind himself that this girl got on his last nerve – no matter what – before she understood.

"Oh, well – do you want to come with me tonight? To eat?"

In answer, House walked around to her passenger door and let himself in, giving the box of random office and lounge items a contemptuous glare, as if it were at fault for her resignation, and moved it to the back seat before sitting down. He quickly placed the coffee mug in it without her seeing, and put on his seatbelt.

Wondering what on earth had just possessed her, Cameron silently shut the car door behind her as she too buckled her seatbelt. For a nervous moment neither of them spoke, until House provided a sufficient ice breaker.

"You have _fuzzy dice_?" he asked, looking incredulously at her. "_Pink_ fuzzy dice?"

Cameron almost giggled, caught it, and replaced it with a knowing smile.

"I've been driving with them since the tender age of sixteen," she replied, making sure no men with canes were standing in the way before she pulled out.

"This is already ruining dinner," House informed her, hooking his cane on the notch that separated the air bag and the dashboard.

"So," he stated. "On Airport, you said."

"Apparently. The coupon is in my wallet."

"On no terms will I go through your purse."

"It won't bite."

"The tampons might."

"House!" Cameron glared furiously without taking her eyes off the road.

"What?" he asked innocently, and she heard the twinkle in his eye better than she would ever be able to see it.

"Never mind."

"I'm sure they sell chocolate at the restaurant for women in your _way_. Expensive. Maybe with caramel -" he began, but she suddenly honked loudly at the empty road, just to rattle him. He jumped, and this time, she allowed herself to snicker softly.

"That means shut up."

Defeated in one battle, House did indeed press his lips together. But he hummed softly, tunelessly, just to annoy her, as she took the exit off the highway and traversed the feeder road to New Jersey Bay Company.

"Do they sell burgers here?" asked House as they strode away from the car toward the politely lit wooden doors. Cameron shot him a look.

"What? I don't like shellfish."

She stopped walking and looked him in the eye. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Shellfish, defined as shrimp, lobster, crab, crawfish, fish, and all other manner of sea creatures. Ooh, especially scallops." He gave a mock shudder. "Killer."

She remembered to count to ten before she replied. "Why are you here, then?"

"Did you really think I waited for two hours only to give you a coffee cup?"

Cameron wanted to assure herself that she imagined the soft note in his voice. House had no soft voice. Not with her.

"Two hours?"

He didn't move, or reply. Cameron swallowed, as discreetly as she could. The parking lot light pole made his face look even more rugged than normal.

House was sure that he had touched something inside her, but he couldn't tell if it was good or bad quite yet. He didn't even notice that they were somehow closer together than when they had first stopped, a few feet away from the door.

She didn't either, but she did notice the way he was still calculating her, reading her like a book with those intent eyes, eyes that adamantly refused to be shadowed in the semidarkness of the evening. She wondered irrationally if they ever closed. They were always alert, always solving, always knowing, always twinkling in that infuriating sort of way he had about everything, even monster trucks.

"We could…try McDonald's," she rasped, her voice sounding too rough for the soft silence that had fallen.

He blinked.

"Yeah."

Silently, she turned back to her car with her head down while he followed behind, wondering what kind of shampoo she used to make her hair smell like a cross between vanilla ice cream and oranges.

_A/N: Woohoo for cliffies! I'll be back with more soon, and thanks for reading! _


	2. Bambi Blows A Gasket

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own; don't sue. Gracias.

_Note: _Post-Role Model (day after). Slight spoilers, but not many.

_Summary:_ Goodbye was uncomfortable enough the first time. Twice, it was unbearable.

_A/N:_ I hope all of you enjoy! I would greatly appreciate feedback.

Chapter Two

Bambi Blows A Gasket

House was pleasantly surprised when Cameron ordered a double meat, double cheese Big Mac with extra pickles and a large Diet Coke.

"Bit of an oxymoron, isn't it?" he asked her as she popped three fries drenched in ketchup in her mouth.

"Wha'z?"

House looked disgustedly at her. "Chew. Swallow. Speak."

She grinned in childish delight. "Excuse me. What is this oxymoron you speak of, Dr. House?"

"You ordered a heart attack on sesame bun with a Diet Coke. What point is there in that?"

"Um," she pondered in exaggeration, pretending to think. "I'm watching my weight?"

"What weight?" House quirked an eyebrow at her as he wolfishly bit into his own Big Mac.

She shrugged her one-shouldered shrug again and took a long sip from her tall paper cup, and then pretended to look down at her food while inspecting him. The bright lights of the typical All-American McDonald's highlighted the slight scratches on his brown jacket and how curly his hair really was. There was a very small, pale scar right above his left eyebrow that she had never noticed before.

"How'd you hurt your eye?" she inquired suddenly, before wondering if it was a touchy subject. She hoped it wasn't, and then hoped it was possible to eat her words if it was.

He looked confused for a second before realizing what she meant.

"Oh…lacrosse." _Don't ask; don't ask any more, Cameron…_

She nodded silently and occupied her mouth with a pickle, much to his approval.

"I broke my arm once."

House gazed at her. "And…?"

She stifled a laugh. "It hurt?"

"Did it now?" House shook his head. "Well, I'm relieved to know that it didn't tickle you beyond all measure of emotional capacity."

"Yes, but it was certainly close. I was almost scarred for life."

"And why weren't you?"

"I'm tough."

House carefully scraped the finely-chopped onions off his bun. _Tough, yes. But still damaged. _He discreetly looked down at her left hand ring finger, at the faint tan line where a wedding ring had once found its home. He wondered what she had done with it, but knew better than to even begin to vocalize such a question.

At least, not quite yet.

He knew she was combing him with her eyes. Secretly, but still doing it. He also knew that his appearance was more than lacking from a night of tossing and turning over the news of her resignation, and wondered for what felt like the zillionth time what exactly she saw in him. Scruffy face, messy hair, bitter and repulsive disposition – he would be willing to bet her husband had been sweet, nice, probably adopted sick puppies and healed them again, exactly like her. It was almost sickening until he realized how natural it was to her and how fondly he thought of her while she was caring for patients, or her friends…or him.

And yet, here she was in all her young and beautiful glory, pained inside that he had said no to her. _Innocent, trusting…broken by her own faith in people_, said House's thoughts, and he shut them out quickly before his ever-smothered conscience could rise from its bonds. He wasn't a fan of pity. She didn't need it, not from him.

House looked at her plainly. Her face was proud, and soft, and young. Her eyes were brown, and painfully reminded him of Bambi, a movie he vowed never to watch again after the thought hit him. Not that he had ever watched it _before_. Yeah.

"House?"

He realized she was speaking.

"You gonna finish that?" she asked, smirking at his half-finished, grease-stained box of French fries.

He pushed it toward her.

"Where are you going to go?" The words were out before he had fully formed them in his brain.

She looked at him, startled, and didn't need an explanation.

"San Diego."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. California. Beach. Men her age with medical degrees and open personalities.

Far away. An entire expanse of country away.

_You are not jealous…only concerned_, said House, and he scoffed at himself immediately.

_Even you lie. _

Cameron noticed his resigned expression.

"You picked me, House. Being fired would not look good on my resume."

House's head snapped up.

"What?" he asked in a deadly voice.

"You picked me! I was the least respected, least qualified – Vogler told me, and I quit."

House felt his blood pressure rising, but managed to not shout.

"Vogler did _what_?"

She looked astonished at his tone. "He told me you were firing me. He -"

"_Bastard_!"

House struggled to stand, grabbed his cane, and stalked out the swinging glass door. Cameron sat still for a moment, shocked, and then hurried after him, snatching her purse from the seat and muttering an apology for the trash left on the table, although no one heard her.

House was walking down the sidewalk, his head pounding.

"House! Stop! What is _wrong_ with you?"

He stopped and whirled around to find her right behind him, looking utterly lost and forlorn.

"Why do you like me?" he asked quietly. Her lips parted slightly and she didn't reply. He hated her for approximately six seconds for making him ask, and then felt his ever-guarded heart start to hurt as she struggled to keep from crying.

"I…don't know," she whispered miserably, and furiously she wiped away the tears filling in the corners of her eyes. "You don't like me – you don't even _respect _me. I'm never right, and even if I am, you have to prove it before you're satisfied. You make me feel stupid, and naïve, and I'm never enough, I'm inadequate!" A floodgate had opened in her, and she found she couldn't stop. Feelings and thoughts came pouring out without reserve, and she realized that she didn't care what he would think when she was done. She was leaving, and it all needed to be aired out to dry and wither away, so she wasn't tortured inside, growing mildew at festering bothers.

"Am I just a piece of art to you? Because that's what it feels like! You've toyed with me every day of my life, House, and I'm sick of it! I'm not just some pretty thing to have around for pleasure! I'm smart, and a good doctor, and my bedside manner is a hell of a lot better than yours!" She got up in his face as much as she could within the limitations of her height. His face was impassive as she ranted.

"God, House, you can't do this to everyone! You can't manipulate everyone you meet! I don't know if it's just me that you don't like, or maybe it's just that you really _don't_ like me, I don't know; you say that everyone lies, and you're a hypocrite! You lied the day you said you didn't like me, and you're lying now if you say that you still don't. I'm sick of being the one trying to get you to talk; I'm sick of being nice; I'm sick of being walked all over; I'm sick of being _me_!" she finished, and realized she had been shouting at the top of her lungs. A passerby car that had slowed down beside them quickly picked up speed as she whirled around and glared, tears of frustration and grief pouring down her cheeks.

When she turned back to him, full of dread, she found that her worst fears were confirmed. He looked coldly down at her.

"Are you finished?"

She screwed up her eyes and sat heavily on the garden wall, weeping, her hands covering her face. She heard him start to walk away, and tried to muster the courage to run back to him, but she couldn't move. She couldn't bear it any longer, and she herself stood up and slowly turned away, barely able to see for her tears.

"I've been waiting for something like this to happen," said House's voice somberly behind her, and she turned around in shock to see him standing there, his face twisted in a strangely handsome way. She thought she heard him sniff, but promptly convinced herself that she had imagined it.

"I didn't pick you. I fired Chase." House looked down at his Nike Shox and Cameron looked up at him in amazement.

"Vogler hates me for the speech thing," he muttered. "He doesn't care about the money – hell, he has enough of it to take a bath in it. He just wants to make me miserable."

Cameron blinked. "So when you said…"

House swallowed. "I said no because I wanted to keep you at Princeton. And now you're leaving anyway. I lied."

They stood there, mutely staring at each other. Cameron couldn't believe that she had actually blown up at him, and House couldn't, either.

"Could you give me a ride back to the hospital?" he asked in a low voice, and she nodded sadly, slowly. He wasn't going to ask her to stay. He wasn't going to beg.

But they both knew that he wanted to.

The ride back to Princeton-Plainsboro was silent. Both sensed that something was left undone and unsaid, but neither was brave enough to initiate it.

Cameron pulled up into the garage by his Corvette. House climbed out of the car without speaking, and shut the door with a soft snap. Cameron pulled away before he could see her crying again, and House was glad of it, because if she saw _him_ crying, she would never be able to move on with her life.

Goodbye was uncomfortable enough the first time. Twice, it was unbearable.

_Do I entertain you? _

_Do I preoccupy you with my wit to cover this lie? _

_Are you mesmerized? _

_Do you think me faithful, do you think me a clown? _

_I picked out this shirt, I put on this hat _

_I wore all this paint just for you _

_**- jars of clay**_

A/N: Don't worry, there's much, much more to this story…


End file.
